


Short Shorts, or: Too Short to Trot

by unveiled



Series: Snippets [10]
Category: The Avengers (2012), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Angst, Gratuitous Harry Potter Fusion, Historical Accuracy May Vary Wildly, Humor, I Don't Even Know, Kidfic, Mecha, Medieval Romantic Comedy, Mpreg, Multi, What Happens in the Savage Land Stays in the Savage Land
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unveiled/pseuds/unveiled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of very brief snippets originally posted on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. affairs of the heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in an alternate universe where [Raven is a catburglar](http://thoughtsnotunveiled.tumblr.com/tagged/catburglar%21raven) and Charles is her long-suffering academic brother. Takes place before [Cry Thief](http://archiveofourown.org/works/348327).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for horusporus.

"I really don't see why I should apologise for it."

"I can't believe you!" Raven cast around for something to throw at the wall; confronted by miles of Charles's precious books, she gave up on the idea. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

Charles's lips compressed into a mutinous line. "I am an adult and perfectly capable of making my own choices, Raven. It was just _one night_ — hardly a cause for hysterics."

"Oh, fuck you. Resorting to misogyny now, are we?"

"Fine. All right, I'm sorry," Charles sighed. "But only for this, and not—"

"And don't feed me that 'it was just one night' bullshit," she snapped back. "Charles, he left you! He can't keep running back to you like this every time he disagrees with that posh fiancée of his on table settings."

"She's not— they're not engaged, and I'm sure Erik would tell me otherwise." Charles tapped his forehead. "Even if he didn't, I would know."

"The point is that engaged or not, they're still _in a relationship_. I can't believe you're trying to justify infidelity."

The guilty dart of Charles's eyes told her everything. She groaned. "Oh god, let me guess: he showed up at your door being all vulnerable and shit, and you took him into your arms like some Mills and Boon heroine."

"They broke up, Raven," he said quietly. "Truly, I have no intention of picking up where Erik and I left off — he was considering trying again with her. We had a bit of fun, and that was it. Believe it or not, I don't want him back in my life."

She stared at him for while, then declared, "We're having jugged hare for dinner tonight."

Charles blinked, then narrowed his eyes. "... you were planning to do something else with that hare carcass, weren't you?"

"Erik shouldn't leave his car lying around if he didn't want me to break into it," she said serenely.


	2. once was lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in an alternate universe where XMFC ends with sunshine and kittens, and nobody got divorced on a beach off Cuba.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For yourfandom-myobsession, and originally posted on Tumblr.

"I have a hypothetical question."

Charles tore himself away from the latest in RNA transcription to see Erik looming over his desk — the looming, he thought, was surely a sign that Erik was uncertain and trying to hide it. He refrained from probing Erik's mind, but couldn't resist saying, "I thought you don't deal in hypotheticals."

Erik's brows went taut. "Do you want to hear the question or not?" he growled.

"Sorry, darling." Charles smiled. "What was your hypothetical question?"

This time, Erik clearly looked uneasy. "Could your telepathy be used to recover lost memories? Not... what you showed me before, but something more mundane. Something that doesn't provoke an emotional response."

Thoroughly intrigued now, Charles slid aside the academic journal, his full attention on Erik. "Such as?"

Rather than answering verbally, though, Erik made a vague wriggly-fingered gesture at his head — so entirely un-Erik-like, it threw Charles off for a moment. Charles pursed his lips and pressed the tips of his fingers to his temple, searching.

" _Erik_."

"Can you?"

Charles stared at Erik for a long, uncomfortable minute, wordless, feeling strangely and idiotically betrayed. "Erik, I can't use my telepathy to help you recall how you wanted to do your  _lesson plan_."

"Why not," Erik sulked. "You were the one who brow-beat me into teaching geography to fifteen-year-olds — the responsibility is yours."


	3. diplomatic run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The midway point in Erik Lehnsherr's terrible, no-good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ninemoons42.

The walls shook with the force of the bombing and gunfire, forcing them into a choice between retreating into the sturdier passageways deep inside the compound, or to press on and hope that they would make it out before they were buried alive. Raven caught Erik’s arm as he stumbled, woozy and discombobulated from the suppressor drugs.

“It’s just a simple diplomatic run, she said,” Raven moaned. “We’ll be out with a treaty in our hands in no time, she said. Fuck this shit.”

“We have to get to Charlotte,” he rasped out. “Before they—”

The wall next to them caved in with a roar, dust rising like a veil before the admantium claw of a Shi’ar mecha suit, splashed in war colours.

“I say, I hope I haven’t hurt anyone,” said a cheerful, entirely unexpected voice from inside the suit, followed by a burst of telepathic affection. “Oh, Erik, are you all right?”

“… Charlotte?”

The hatch opened and a familiar figure clambered out, jumping out and landing precariously on the rubble. Charlotte’s face was lined with worry as she wiped dust from Erik’s face, one arm clutching around Raven’s waist in a hug.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Erik demanded. “And why are you in Shi’ar gear?”

“I couldn’t leave my husband and my sister to Deathbird’s tender mercies, surely,” she protested.

Raven pointed at the mecha. “Charlotte. The Empress doesn’t give those out like candy, okay?”

Charlotte’s eyes slid away from them, a sure sign that Erik should brace himself for what came next. Her smile turned both apologetic and sly all at once.

“I, uh, well. You’re looking at Empress Lilandra’s new Consort Secundarius, I’m afraid.”

Erik stared.

“It’s more a ceremonial role than anything else, much like a trusted advisor,” she hurried to explain. “And they don’t mind that I’m already married — the Shi’ar are very accepting of polyamory, you know. Not that I’m suggesting a sexual timeshare, unless…?”

Raven buried her face in her hands.


	4. kiss your dignity goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Your mind is an amazing and terrifying place." — mrkinch, 21st June 2012.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for horusporus's prompt: "charles is pregnant and so is tony stark and clint barton is their babydaddy." She is legitimately the worst person in the universe.

"How do you feel about bearing my child's half-brother?"

For a wild, terrible moment, the words SPERM DONOR MIX-UP flashed in mile-high neon lights in Tony's brain. Reality — and common sense — soon asserted itself, however, as Tony swiftly considered and discarded several hypotheses.

"So what happened in the Savage Land  _didn't_ stay in the Savage Land." Tony spun in his chair, mobile phone held to his ear, ignoring Charles's distressed noises and _stop that, you'll be sick_. Interesting, so the range of Charles's telepathy stretched that far.

"I'm in Manhattan," Charles said, snippily. "On my way to see Mr. Barton. Tony, tell me honestly: did you and Pepper pick him to be your donor for his testicular superpower?"

"Are you kidding me?" Tony ticked off a mental list in his head. "First, I need a donor I can trust to, I don't know, _not_ pull my arc reactor out of my chest — which leaves the Avengers. I'm not subjecting any child of mine to SHIELD lab monkeys, so Steve and his super-sperm are out. Ditto Bruce. Natasha said no, and I'm not having Thor's old man as my child's grandpa, thanks. That leaves Clint."

"Very scientific."

Tony patted his gravid belly. "How're you doing? Seriously."

"Thanks to my students and my doctor, I am in possession of about a million pamphlets and books on pregnancy and paraplegia," Charles said, sounding both pissed off and fond. "Before you ask, yes, I'm keeping the baby."

"Congratulations on another step to that mutant army." Tony sat up, trying to sound as serious as he could. "You can submit a child support claim to SHIELD for a cut of Clint's wages — they let omegas do that to alphas now. Which, by the way, you never heard from me."

"You're a true friend, Anthony. No," Charles said decisively. "That would entail paternity testing, and I am not overly enthused at the thought of SHIELD obtaining a DNA sample of my child with my consent."

Which reminded him— "How's David taking the news?"

"Happy at the thought of having a younger sibling to bully." Charles sighed. "I suppose I must tell Erik at some point, wherever he is at the moment."

"Sucks to be you." Tony mentally pictured their last encounter with Magneto, Master of Magnetism, Mutant Terrorist, and other things beginning with M. "And sucks to be Clint. You're two for two on absentee fathers, though."

" _Thank you_."

Tony smirked. Omegas, he thought, were better off with other omegas. He blew an imaginary kiss at the absent Pepper. Not that he was biased or anything.


	5. perfect concord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik has doubts about his daughter's bedtime reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ninemoons42's prompt: "Erik wakes up one day and the book on his night stand is _Jane Eyre_."
> 
> Note that a character here may come off as glibly dismissive of postcolonial critique of a text.

Erik carefully dislodged Anya from where she clung to him, barnacle-like. She mumbled a sleepy protest but didn't wake up, rolling over to the empty stretch on the other side of the bed. He felt her forehead — the fever seemed to have broken.

He took the book Anya had insisted he read to her before she fell asleep, flipping through the pages as he walked down to breakfast. Anya was precocious and bright, like her mother, but Erik's not sure she should be reading this without a few corresponding history lessons.

Charles was standing over the stove and arguing over something nerdy with Hank through his Bluetooth mobile headset. The smell of butter and frying eggs filled their kitchen, and Charles smiled at him and nodded vaguely at the omelette already on the table.

Erik waited until Charles ended his call before waving Anya's copy of _Jane Eyre_ at him. "I'm not comfortable with our daughter idolising a character who's a beneficiary of ill-gotten wealth from colonisation and the slave trade — without so much as an acknowledgment of the fact — and hands over part of it to an evangelical religious fundamentalist."

"It could be worse, darling. It could be  _Wuthering Heights_ ," Charles said. "Then we'd be undoing the damage done by pop culture raving over an abusive, controlling man as a Byronic hero. At least Jane would have given Heathcliff a what-for."


	6. Bringing Up Barghest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik is a blacksmith in a medieval town. Charles is the MPDM (Manic Pixie Dream Monk) about to rock his world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For atelier-dayz/pallorsomnium's prompt, asking for a fantasy AU with Erik as a blacksmith and Charles as a mage. Instigated by the fine people of the #xmentales chat, have a Charles/Erik medieval rom-com -- or at least my sorry attempt at one. I spent half the night doing research on the High Middle Ages period before I decided: you know what, fuck it, NO ONE CARES about historical accuracy in a crackfic.
> 
> Powered AU plus magic, because that's how I roll. Originally posted [here](http://thoughtsnotunveiled.tumblr.com/post/28521401211/bringing-up-barghest).

Charles first caught Erik's attention not because of his black Benedictine habit, or even the fine blue of his eyes, but because he was _clean_ — a miraculous achievement when occupied with herding the livestock of an entire village into the safety of the castle walls. His feet and the hem of his tunic were stained with mud, but his skin was suspiciously free of the soot and blood that marked villagers fleeing from raiders baying at their heels.

"Just once," grumbled Erik's mother, bent almost double under the weight of their worldly possessions, "can't the raiders come on any other day than Shabbat?"

"If it is any comfort, mother," he said, hefting the sacks higher on his shoulders, "their first destination is always the monastery. All that gold leaf on their manuscripts."

She harrumphed. "If we have to rebuild the smithy again... well, I suppose it's a good thing people always need a farrier and blacksmith."

Erik thought smugly about the precious tools he buried under the smithy, forcing them deep into the earth with his power. Not even the most determined raider would expend time and effort to dig them up.

Outside the walls of the castle, it began to hail.

***

In hindsight, perhaps he should have kept his doubts about the miracle of the hailstorm to himself. He wasn't stupid enough to say anything in front of anyone other than his mother, but how was he to know about Charles's abilities?

Come _on_ , though. Anyone with a modicum of common sense, armed with keen observation of the natural world, would see the impossibility of such a small, localised hailstorm. Which, coincidentally, produced icy spikes dangerous enough to turn away armed raiders.

When Erik and his mother returned to their home, they saw that the hailstorm had wrecked the thatched roof, the ice melting into a wet, muddy mess. He swore, colourfully and at great length.

"Your father would be proud — he was a great man for languages," his mother sighed. "Come, we only have a few hours of sunlight left. If we get this cleared, we won't have to sleep in a swamp."

***

"You're a very intelligent man," Charles said.

Erik blinked. "What?"

"And talented." Charles cocked his head, like a bright-eyed wren. "Far more talented and powerful than a simple blacksmith, yes?"

Startled, Erik dropped his hammer. He looked down at the knifeblade he'd been shaping, now rendered useless, and gave it up as a lost cause. He'd deal with it later, when he was sure no one was looking. The damn monk and his chatter would bring the entire village upon their heads if Erik didn't shut him up — especially with rumours of the black dog wandering around.

"I'll thank you not to flap your mouth in front of my neighbours," Erik said through gritted teeth. "Also: who  _are_  you?"

"Oh, that's right! We haven't been introduced yet — I'm Charles. I know everything about you, though. Don't worry, there are others like you, and I happen to be one of them."

Erik's mouth opened, then closed again.

"Ah, but I'm taking up too much of your time. I wanted to ask you if you were any good at working with copper." Charles produced a rolled-up parchment with a flourish, and spread it out on a table.

Intrigued despite himself, Erik leaned over for a look. It was a design for a strange helmet, with intricate coils looping around and from its rounded dome. There were writing he could not decipher scrawled around the sketches.

"I will, of course, supply the copper and anything else," Charles said. "I can pay handsomely."

"I can't read this," Erik said reluctantly, pointing at the writing. He traced the sketches with a finger. "These are... difficult."

"Not to worry," Charles said blithely. "I am very happy to read them out for you while you work. _Every day_ , if need be. No — even without invoking necessity."

Charles's eyes were— nice. Very nice.

After he finally chased Charles away, Erik stepped out of his smithy and looked up. Just to be sure. And indeed, the horseshoe he nailed over the doorway was still there, so Charles couldn't be a fairy.

Possibly. 


	7. this is not the beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik has some of the stereotypical Gryffindor faults: quick to rush in, impatient with scheming. Luckily, his boyfriend is a Slytherin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept mulling over [an XMFC/Avengers/HP fusion idea](http://thoughtsnotunveiled.tumblr.com/post/23121627686/ninemoons42-turtletotem-themadnessswithin) and this happened. *throws up hands* I'm sure I've written more than [this half-arsed meta](http://thoughtsnotunveiled.tumblr.com/post/14113211334/aseasoninyoureyes-mmmm-yes-please-this-set-is) on why I sorted the XMFC characters the way I did, but I can't find it now. Apologies in advance for people who're expecting more of a presence by the Avengers characters here. Erik takes over fucking _everything_. It's been a while since I read the books, so I think some of the Harry Potter terminology (especially the issue of capitalisation) are a bit off.
> 
> This was originally posted at Tumblr with accompanying photos. I've elected not to include them in the AO3 version, so if you'd like to view them, please make your way to the [original post](http://thoughtsnotunveiled.tumblr.com/post/23157220982/this-is-not-the-beginning).

[ _Portrait of a young man with dark hair and blue eyes, with a dusting of stubble along his jaw and upper lip. He is staring at the viewer without expression on his face, standing against a black background. He is dressed in three layers of clothing: a black overcoat worn over a brown jacket with a hood, and a white dress shirt with a black tie at the collar, slightly askew._ ]

Caption: _Charles Xavier, Unspeakable. Formerly of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in his only known portrait (2013)._

***

_2010_

"Glaring at the first-years won't make them spontaneously manifest talent," Charles said, so mildly a spring day would accuse him of thievery. "Ah, my apologies, I see we're still in denial over caring about Quidditch."

"One day, Charles, I intend to see to it that you learn to leave some things well alone," Erik grumbled, but he obligingly allowed the kiss Charles brushed against the corner of his mouth.

"Cheer up, darling, another fortnight and your suspension is over. Then you can begin learning not to let Shaw get under your skin."

The words were deliberately free of any waspish inflection, but Erik felt their sting anyway. He thumped his book shut, drawing dirty looks from nearby students, and said, "You know very well I was provoked."

Charles cocked his head. "In the first match after Christmas, yes. Shaw timed his provocation well — he couldn't have ensured your infamy better if he tried."

From the corner of his eyes, Erik saw that Madam Pince had raised her head, like a vulture sensing easy prey in a distance. He detached himself with some reluctance from the window overlooking the training grounds and said, "Let's go to the entrance courtyard."

Ever presumptuous, Charles tucked his hand into the crook of Erik's elbow as they walked out of the library. Another person might have made it into a subordinate, clinging gesture. Charles, Erik thought with fond exasperation, made it look like a favour, as if he could turn a pig into a silk-clad gentleman just by an affectionate touch.

Xavier, the Mind-Breaker. No one ever so much as murmured the nickname in Erik's hearing, but Thor Odinson was incapable of keeping secrets that distressed him, and certainly not when it concerned his Quidditch teammate.

"They say the talent for mind-reading was bred into him," Odinson had said, apologetic. "Rumours say his family disowns any child without skill in Legilimency and Occlumency."

As one, they'd glanced at Raven Xavier, at the far end of the pitch. That day her hair was streaked red and gold to match her uniform, and she was laughing merrily with Salvadore, their Seeker.

"Let it be known that I will curse any Gryffindor I catch spreading tales," Erik said grimly. Odinson had nodded fervently, but even the two of them couldn't stop the whispers outside their House's common room, especially after Charles very publicly made it clear he had a claim on Erik.

They certainly had their share of looks as they walked sedately through the castle, Erik shortening his strides to match Charles's pace. Charles had grown taller, he realised. Once upon a time Erik thought that Charles might have made a good Seeker if he wasn't so resolutely uninterested in competitive Quidditch, but in the intervening years his chest and shoulders had filled out to a pleasing breadth — oh, Erik certainly noticed  _that_. While Charles may never be tall enough to be an effective Keeper, he would have made a fair Chaser.

They emerged from the Entrance Hall into sunlight, still pale and timorous, the last vestiges of winter. Raven, playing Gobstones with some of her fellow fourth-years, waved to them. Charles watched them for a moment, smiling as Gryffindor red tussled with Hufflepuff yellow and Slytherin green to get out of the way of the spitting liquid. Natasha Romanoff — whom Charles remembered fondly as a quiet first-year who threw a finger-removing jinx with startling quickness — emerged victorious with Clint Barton's help, Alex Summers complaining bitterly about his fellow Hufflepuff's betrayal.

"It becomes easier every year," Charles said.

"What does?"

"To think of ourselves as one school. To be friends with students not of our House. And more." He glanced at Erik, his eyes slyly amused. "One day, Slytherins and Gryffindors will compete in the Quidditch Cup simply as two Houses of Hogwarts, nothing more."

Erik grunted, disbelieving. "You should've been Sorted into Gryffindor, and I into Slytherin."

"No, we are exactly where we need to be." Charles's mouth twisted into a wry grimace. "We're both of us ambitious, but I would wind my way around and into the world as it is, to change it from within — you, on the other hand, would rather smash your way through injustice after injustice."

"You shouldn't think of yourself like that," Erik snapped. "You should be a teacher, not a puppeteer. You love children, you'll be good at it."

"The only schools that would accept me as a teacher without question are not, shall we say, conducive to my being seen as on the side of angels."

"That's going to change." Charles's hand tightened on his arm. "You said— it becomes easier every year."

"Not fast enough to outrun the reports of what they found in my father's laboratories, after the end of the War." Erik must have let slip his instinctive horror, because Charles sighed and pressed his forehead against Erik's shoulder.

Charles was wrong, Erik thought. Raven and her compatriots were too young for clear memories, but he and Charles, they were children of the War. If there was one thing they ought to have learned, it was that there was nothing they didn't have to fight for in this world. To sit back and talk around a table, and wait while people bled around them, were blasphemy in a world rebuilt from rubble.

"Emma and Loki are rather friendlier with Shaw than I knew," Charles said softly, drawing Erik's attention. They looked over to where Frost's familiar blonde coiffure  was bent close to Laufeyson and Shaw, two Hufflepuffs dancing attendance on them.

Erik frowned. "Does that worry you?"

"A little." Seemingly at random, Charles said, "Shaw's likely to be named Head Boy next year."

"He can't be trusted, but at least he's a Ravenclaw. How much damage can he do?"

"A fair amount, if knowledge and learning aren't guided by ethics." Charles raised his eyebrows. "Were it not for your intemperate display at the match, I think McGonagall would have pushed for you as a candidate — too bad Steve Rogers is a fifth-year. She'll probably settle for having Peggy Carter as Head Girl and hope that she balances out Shaw."

He was going to have to ask how Charles knew all this, Erik thought. Not at the moment, though, with Anthony Stark ambling up to them, eyes fixed on Charles with far more flirtatious attention than was appropriate. Erik growled, dropping his arm to curl around Charles's waist.

Charles's laugh was easy to predict.

***

[ _Portrait of a middle-aged man with a short, reddish beard and dark hair combed back from his forehead. He has hazel eyes and is standing in front of a grey background, with shadows just touching the right side of his face. He is looking at the viewer, and there's an air of exhaustion about him. He looks as if he was dressed formally before this picture was taken: a black tailored jacket over an embroidered black waistcoat, and a white dress shirt open at the collar._ ]

Caption: _Erik Lehnsherr, Minister for Magic. Photograph taken minutes before news of his election victory, 2042. Requested that his children not be photographed. No spouse._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Slytherin!Charles and Gryffindor!Erik turn out to be your thing, may I point you to stickmarionette's [sing, slow it down](http://archiveofourown.org/works/297007/chapters/475671), to which this snippet owes a considerable debt.
> 
> For Quidditch geeks among us, the Gryffindor team as of this story included:  
> Keeper: Steve (captain)  
> Beaters: Thor  
> Chasers: Erik, Raven, Sean  
> Seeker: Angel


	8. tea for two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers has a problem on his hands. He calls on his last, best option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows [this is not a beginning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/493547/chapters/864395). Originally posted to [Tumblr](http://thoughtsnotunveiled.tumblr.com/post/23982053712/mrkinch-ah-relogging-explanatory-tags) with, yes, an accompanying photograph.

_2032_

Steve was on his second cup of tea, feeling ill at ease in his newly-purchased jeans and shirt, when Charles Xavier appeared at the door to the tearoom. Xavier shook droplets of rain from his umbrella, closing it with a crisp snap, before handing it over to a waitress with a smile and a banal comment about the unusually wet spring.

Xavier was dressed in a manner that suggested at a life as a lawyer or banker, painted in elegant, tailored lines of navy wool. Despite being as pureblood as any of the old wizarding families, he seemed far more at ease in Muggle clothing than Steve, who himself was Muggleborn. Xavier stood out in a room filled with tourists and students, but — Steve's lips curled in a wry smile — in a way that allowed for an obvious, assumption-led explanation. How very perfectly Xavier, and Steve could appreciate it now, two decades out of school.

Still, the disguise wasn't perfect. Power radiated from Xavier like the hum of a fluorescent light, and without being conscious of it, people leaned away from him as he passed their tables. His eyes were very blue and very intense, his mouth set in a calm, mirthless line.

Steve realised, with a jolt, that it was a deliberate display of strength, meant for him to see. Did Xavier think he came here with a challenge? He took a gamble and stood up respectfully as Xavier approached his table, shaking his hand.

"Thank you for meeting me, sir."

"It's not often that the head of the Aurors invites me out for tea in York," Xavier said, smiling again. He picked up the menu. "I recommend the fat rascals. They're very good, though not as good as reputation makes them out to be."

"I'm afraid I'm here on business." Steve leaned forward. "But I think you already know that."

Xavier arched an eyebrow. "I suspected. We're rather far from London and the Ministry of Magic. Is there a reason why you couldn't make an appointment to see me in my office?"

"It's about Erik Lehnsherr."

The muscles in Xavier's jaw tensed. "I'm still waiting for an adequate answer to my question, Rogers."

Steve was never very good at the subtle nuances of wordsmithing, but he'd been rehearsing this conversation in his head, and he had a reply ready. "I came to you because someone is trying to kill Lehnsherr. Or so I suspect. There's a mole in the MoM — you're the only person I'm dead certain can't be it."

There was a flash of something vulnerable and raw in Xavier's eyes, but it was soon gone, their neutral surface smoothing over again. It was enough for Steve, enough to know he hadn't been wrong in trying to work with Xavier.

They'd all thought that Xavier and Lehnsherr would last, but after Hogwarts Xavier went off to work in the Department of Mysteries and Lehnsherr had his politics, and something bad must've happened at some point. Three years ago Lehnsherr showed up with a pair of toddler twins and declared they were his children, hammering in the last nail in the public coffin of his relationship with Xavier. There was just no way, Steve thought, that Lehnsherr would've had an affair and fathered children if he was still with Xavier.

It didn't mean that there wasn't still love between the two of them, though.

"I see," Xavier said. "Well, then, Rogers: speak, and I will listen."


End file.
